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JOHNA.SEAVERNS 


WORKS   BY 

GRACE  CLARKE  NEWTON 


A  SMALL  GIRL'S  STORIES 
A   BOOK  OF  RHYME 


POEMS  IN  PASSING 

First  Series 


POEMS  IN  PASSING 

A  Second  Gleaning 
(In  preparation) 

A   HUNTING   ALPHABET 

Illustrated 


THE 

ABC 


OF 


DRAG  HUNTING 


BY 


GRACE  CLARKE  NEWTON 


EPDUTTON  8COHPANY. 

68lf  If  TH  AVENUE 

NEW^YOR^C.^^ 

ESTABLISHED  185Z 


Copyright,  1917 
E.  P.  Duttoii  &  Company 


Redfield-Kendrick-Odell  Co.,  Inc. 
New  York 


The  illustrations  arc  from  sonic  paintings  by 
Richard  Newton,  Jr. 


1^ 


A  is  Ambition  which  leads  you  to  buy 

A  qualified  hunter,  the  picture  of  pride, 

Of  whom  it  is  said,* 'He  takes  off  in  his  stride/* 

This  means  he  jumps  you  off  with  hounds  in 
full  cry. 


B  is  the  Beauty  who's  learning  to  **go,'* 

Who  comes  to  the  Club  on  the  morn  of  the 
Meet, 

And  says  to  the  Master,  *  'Now  if  you'll  be  sweet 

And  let  me  ride  near  you,  I'll  finish  I  know!" 


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Benjamin  Nicoll,  Esq. — Essex  Hunt  (on  Cocktail) 


C  is  the  Casualty  frequently  met 

When  a  Ditch  next  a  creeper-clad  fence  lies 
concealed ; 

Also  the  Comments  of  most  of  the  field, 

**For  the  man  who  lays  drags  with  a  butter- 
fly net! '* 


D  is  the  overworked  letter  so  Dear 

To  the  heart  of  the  Sportsman  who's  riding  a 
skate, 

Who  thinks  there  is  no  one  to  open  the  gate 

And  fails  to  observe  that  the  Vicar  stands  near. 


in 

q" 
z 
w 

o 


E  is  your  Epitaph,  writ  by  a  wag, 

Which  reached  you  by  post  on  your  first  hunt- 
ing morn; 

"Hie  jacet!     He  hoped  to  be  pride  of  the 
Quorn 

But  died  of  sheer  fright  ere  he  rode  in  one 
drag." 


F  is  the  Fence  '*made  of  stout  posts  and  rails 

Five  feet' ' !     You   *  'sailed  over  it  riding  the 
grey*^ 

But  do  not  dine  out  on  it  often,  I  pray, 

For  at  each  repetition  the  interest  pales. 


c 
W 


G  is  the  Gathering  Gloom  of  Her  Grace, 

The  Great  One,  invited  to  open  our  Ball, 

When  she  heard  that  the  Master  had  had  a 
a  bad  fall 

And  the   Honorable  Whip  is  to  fill  in   his 
place. 


H  is  the  Horn  of  the  Huntsman  that  sounds 
Rather  wheezy  and  thin  to  irreverent  ears; 
But  Ah !    'tis  a  music  melodic,  which  cheers 
The  Hearts  of  the  nailers  who  follow  Hounds. 


I  is  the  Impulse  by  which  you  are  curst; 

To  prove  you  have  courage  when  fox  hounds 

are  '^Cast/' 

*'ril  jam  in  my  spurs  and  be  after  them  fast," 
It  seems  that  the  Master  prefers  to  go  first. 


J  is  the  Jackrabbit,  running  so  free, 

And  the  Jar  to  the  Master  who  sees  that  his 
pack 

Have  tacitly  told  him  they  cannot  come  back 

'Til  the  last  of  their  fat  furry  friend  they  can 
see. 


K  is  the  Kennels  where  foxhounds  are  kept, 

A  visit  to  these  is  a  part  of  the  Game; 

'lis  a  wise  M.  F.  H.  knows  each  couple  by 
name, 

But  when  they   know  him   they   say   strong 
men  have  wept. 


L  is  for  **Larking"  to  try  out  a  colt; 

How  lightly  he  leaps  from  the  paddock  or  pen, 

But,  once  on  his  back  it's  a  question  of  when 

He  will  lie  down  or  roll  on  you,  buck,  jump 
or  bolt. 


M  is  the  Merriment  seen  on  each  face, 
At  the  rumor  some  hunting  man  offers  to  sell 
''The pick  of  the  stable,  because  he  can't  tell 
If  he's  going  abroad  for  a  season  to  race.'' 


N  is  the  Nag,  ''Nervy  Nat/'  who  was  lent 
For  your  use  by  a  friend   when   your  own 
horse  broke  down, 

And  the  News,  that  was  sent  to  your  dear 
ones  in  Town, 

**Some  bones  have  been  broken  and  some  are 
just  bent/' 


O  is  the  Opportune  Offer  you  made 

To  carry  a  flask  in  case  of  a  spill ; 

Then  you  learn  that  it's  equally  good  for  a  chill 

And  most  of  the  field  of  a  chill  are  afraid. 


P  is  for  '*Pink/'  to  its  pomp  we  aspire 

When  riding  in  ''mufti"  ;  but  how  do  we  feel 

When  bound  for  the  Meet,  quite  the  modern 
John  Peel, 

If  village  boys  shout,  ''Oh,  I  say,  where's  the 
fire?" 


Q  is  the  Quagmire  where  you  get  stuck 

And  the  Quizzical  Questions  of  those  on  the 
bank, 

Who,  as  they  help  you  to  rescue  your  horse  on 
a  plank, 

**Were  you  hunting  a  fox  or  just  chasing  a 
duck?" 


R  is  The  Road  that  the  faint-hearted  choose 

When  the  line  crosses  country  where  going 
is  risky: 

And  the  Rot  that  they  talk,  as  they  sip  their 
Scotch  Whiske}^ 

To  prove  it's  not  they,  but  their  mounts  that 
refuse. 


S  is  the  Scent,  none  too  pleasant  to  those 

Who  ride  not  to  hounds;  but  at  swift  hunting 
pace, 

When  the  Right  Sort  detect  it,  how  madly 
they  race; 

They  find  it  more  sweet  than  the  breath  of  a 
rose. 


T  is  for  Thousands,  the  cost  of  our  fun, 

Also  for  the  Thrusters  and  they  are  not  few 

Who  send  in   a   '*ten"    when  the  season  is 
through 

It  pays  for  the  timber  they  broke  in  one  run. 


U  is  for  Us  when  united  we  fight 

That  the  skirt  called  * 'divided"  be  worn  by 
the  Fair; 

If  you've  seen  a  dear  girl  with  her  boots  in  the 
air 

As  she  lands  in  a  furrow,  you'll  say  I  am  right. 


V  is  the  Viewpoint  of  those  who  are  vexed, 

By  the  Master's  great  promptness  when  they 
ride  up  late; 

^'Confounded  old    Martinet,    couldn't   he 
wait? 

Cast  hounds  by  alarm  clock,  that's  what  he'll 
do  next/' 


W  stands  for  the  Week-end  so  wet 

We  spent  with  our  friend  of  a  neighboring 
hunt, 

You  could  keep  up  with  hounds  if  you  went 
in  a  *'punt" 

But  I  need  not  tell  you  how  far  we  did  get. 


X  is  for  Crossroads  and  sign  posts  galore; 

You  shout  the  Bumpkin  who's  raking  his  hay, 

* 'Which  way  went  the  pack?"  and  his  "Well, 
I  can't  say; 

Ain't  seen  any  peddlers!"  is  rather  a  hore. 


Y  stands  for  You  who  have  stood  for  these 
rhymes, 

Who  discern  amid  chafF  shining  kernels  of 
truth; 

So  the  spirit  of  chivalry,  valor  and  youth 

Are  found  in  the  pleasures  and  sports  of  our 
times. 


Z  is  for  Zero — our  surplus,  my  dear, 

When,  after  good  sport  with  all  damages  paid. 

We  sit  by  the  fire  and  say,  "I'm  afraid 

There'll  be  no  more  runs  till  the  Spring  of  the 
year." 


And  here  ends  this  vohime  of  A  HUNTING  ALPHABET, 
by  Grace  Clarke  Newton,  of  which  262  copies  only  have  been 
printed  by  Redfield-Kendrick-Odell  Co.,  Inc.,  New  York, 
and  the  type  distributed,  in  this  year  of  our  Lord  one  thou- 
sand nine  hundred  and  seventeen. 


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